She put the question to him as soon as he entered the house that evening.
Stefan watched the way Bryony’s eyes lit up as she told him about the celebration, heard the excitement in her voice as she asked if they might go. He swore under his breath. Crowds of people talking and laughing. The stink of roasting meat. The overwhelming temptation of so many beating hearts.Damn.
She was watching him, her hands clasped, waiting for his answer. How could he refuse her when she was looking at him like that, her lips slightly parted, her beautiful sky-blue eyes sparkling with excitement and hope. “Yes, Bryony, we can go, if you like.”
“Oh!” Without thinking, she ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Stefan!”
His arms closed around her, drawing her body flush to his, crushing her breasts against his chest. Desire surged within him, fired by her nearness, the tantalizing scent of her blood, and of the woman herself. Stronger than his desire for her blood was an aching need to carry her to his bed and make love to her until the sun chased the moon from the sky. He groaned softly. How long since he had possessed a woman? Buried himself in the warmth of yielding female flesh? Why was he hesitating now?
Bryony stared up at him, frightened by the intensity of his gaze. She wanted to twist out of his embrace but some inner sense of self-preservation warned her not to move.
“Bryony.” Her name was torn from his throat. And then he was lowering his head, his lips capturing hers, his tongueplundering her mouth while his hands moved restlessly up and down her back.
She lost track of time as he held her, sometimes kissing her, sometimes whispering to her in a language she didn’t understand. She went still when he lifted his head and gazed deep into her eyes.
“Will you kiss me, fair Bryony?”
She blinked up at him. Wasn’t that what they had been doing? “My lord?”
“Will you kiss me of your own free will?” He loosened his hold on her, his gaze still on hers. Waiting.
She swallowed hard. Took a deep breath. Went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. She sensed a subtle change in him, though she had no idea what had caused it or what it meant.
He smiled at her when she took a step back. With a murmured, “Thank you,” he left the house.
Lifting her fingertips to her lips, Bryony stared after him. What a strange man he was. Had no one ever willingly kissed him before? She told herself that was improbable. Impossible. But deep inside she knew it was true, leaving her to wonder why.
In the morning, Bryony woke with a sense of excitement. They were going to the village tonight where there would be music and dancing and people. Lots of people. She wondered what the villagers were celebrating, but she didn’t really care. It was a chance to get out of the house, to mingle with others. Would Stefan dance with her?
With hours until dark, she did her few chores, then went upstairs to her bedchamber. She had worked on his pictureoff and on at odd moments. A few finishing touches and the painting would be done.
As always, time passed swiftly when she was at her easel. Lunch time came and went but she was too engrossed in her work to stop. Another hour slipped by before she took a step back, turning a critical eye on her work. Her painting of Stefan was the best thing she had ever done.
She cleaned her brushes, washed her hands, and turned the easel toward the wall.
Her stomach was growling when she finally went downstairs. She made breakfast for dinner, then went back upstairs to change her clothes, her stomach in knots of excitement as she looked forward to the celebration.
When she went downstairs again, Stefan was waiting for her. For once, he wasn’t wearing black. His shirt was white, the perfect foil for his dark hair and black eyes. His trousers were dark brown, as were his boots.
He smiled when he saw her. “How lovely you look.” Lovely didn’t begin to describe her. She wore a lavender dress with short, puffy sleeves and a square neck. A white sash spanned her narrow waist and tied in a large bow at her side. She wore her hair down, the sides pulled back and held with a white ribbon. She looked as young and innocent as she was and he felt the prick of his conscience for keeping her here against her will. Yet she didn’t look unhappy. Quite the contrary. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires, her lips were as pink as the wildflowers that bloomed in the spring.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!”
Nodding, he opened the door and followed her outside to the buggy, wishing, all the while that being with him had put that glow in her eyes.
Stefan noted that everyone in the village had turned out for the celebration. Lanterns lit the night. Long tables groaned under the weight of meat and cheese and several kinds of bread, roasted onions and kidney pie, cakes and tarts. Ale flowed like water. Children ran through the crowd, laughing and shouting, their faces smeared with sweets.
Musicians played a cheerful tune. People danced. Young and old and in-between. And through it all, the intoxicating, always tempting, beating of a hundred hearts.
He trailed behind Bryony as she filled a plate, then moved through the crowd looking for a place to sit down. She smiled when the delivery boy called her name and waved her over to a table he shared with an older couple. He introduced them as his parents.
“Please, sit with us,” his mother invited.
Smiling, Bryony set her plate on the table and sat beside Elon. Looking up at Stefan, she asked, “Aren’t you going to sit with us?”
He shook his head. “I am going to look around while you eat.”
